


Butcherbird

by noc_lilo



Category: Age of Apocalypse (Comics), Wolverine And The X-Men (Cartoon), X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dystopia, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Lemon, Post-Apocalypse, Smut, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 16:57:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13745331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noc_lilo/pseuds/noc_lilo
Summary: In a world ruled by mutants, a girl finds herself alone for the first time in her life.





	1. Chapter 1

_ Darkness shrieks fire blood sharp pain- _

She wakes.

_ What is waking? What is consciousness? What is thought? _

She reaches out for answers. None are forthcoming. Exhausted by even the cursory search, she sleeps.

_ Light ash cries burns death alone- _

Her energy rejuvenates and she wakes again. There is more than just existence, this time. There is awareness. The world is around her. She feels  _ grass _ . She smells  _ fire _ . She tastes  _ blood _ .

But there is something more, something  _ else _ , dancing on the edge of this new sense of awareness. She reaches for it. It feels-smells-tastes  _ familiar _ .

Her body, her mind, they fail her. She is yet too weak to comprehend this complex a sensation.

She sleeps again, deeper this time, but no less troubled.

_ Alone alone alone alone alone- _

The third time she wakes, it sticks. 

The grass is much more complex at a touch now that she has the capacity to process it. She stirs, and it’s  _ sharp _ and  _ dry _ and  _ dusty _ when her bare belly and breasts and arms  _ scrape _ over it. The smell of fire, too, is  _ pungent  _ and  _ powerful  _ in her nostrils, coming from only a dozen meters away or so if she had to guess.

Yet even taking into account her newfound ability to  _ think _ and  _ feel  _ and  _ guess _ , it all seems strangely muted. Dull. Like there’s something missing. Like she’s listening to music through only one ear and the  _ richness  _ of it seems to suffer for the compromise.

_ Music _ . That’s another sensation she’s missing. Not music, not exactly, but something like it, something she’s used to it. There’s a strange and uncomfortable silence in the back of her mind.  _ Where is the music? _

That question only opens the floodgates. A million more quickly follow.  _ Whowhatwherewhyhow-  _ It’s overwhelming, crushing, a million queries bombarding her fragile, defenseless mind, without a basis from which to answer a single one.

She squeezes her eyes shut, lost in the torrent of unbridled, unmitigated  _ thought _ .


	2. Chapter 2

_ Who am I? _ her brain asks, amidst a torrent of other questions. She latches onto that one. Latching onto that train of thought carries her  _ deeper  _ into the recesses of a damaged mindscape. She  _ seesfeelshears  _ as memories and thoughts  _ whip  _ past her, left in the dust as she delves inward. Her momentum  _ slows _ as she reaches the core, the heart-of-hearts of her mindscape. It’s  _ dark  _ and  _ cold _ and  _ desolate _ .

But she has control.

_ Who am I? _ she asks the void, a second time, louder, more forceful. The question echoes through the ghost town before bouncing back to her. Not with words, but with sensations, images,  _ thought _ .

The  _ press  _ of skin against skin,  _ winding _ ,  _ entwining _ ,  _ twisting  _ around and around itself but around others at the same time.

_ Flashes  _ of golden blonde hair as wind whips around,  _ pebbling  _ bare flesh with goosebumps and turning airy dresses inside-out.

A connection, a bond, a  _ communion  _ deeper than any physical perception. A spiritual  _ oneness _ , despite a  _ division _ . A five in one.  _ SophiePhoebeIrmaCelesteEsme. _

_ No. Three in one,  _ her mindscape  _ whispers _ , chiding her, correcting her. The  _ cruel  _ reproach is enough to shock her out of her  _ gloomy  _ mindscape.

Her eyes  _ flutter  _ open. Her breath  _ heaves _ out in a gasp, parting  _ dry _ lips. She  _ presses _ a weak hand to her chest, skin to skin, and feels the panicked  _ patter _ of her heartbeat.

_ Who am I?  _ Names rush through her head.  _ PhoebeIrmaCeleste…  _

Herselves. No, herself and her sisters. She’s only one of three. 

_ Where are the others? _ she tries.

She hears the music. It’s  _ harsh _ and  _ discordant _ , like a badly tuned instrument, but it trills at the edges of her mind, beckoning her. Her sisters, her other selves, they’re  _ out  _ there. She can  _ feel _ it.

To her feet, she rises. Dust and ash  _ powder  _ her feet,  _ squishing _ between her bare toes like sand on a beach. She’s  _ buffeted _ by  _ warm  _ drafts - the fire, somewhere close. Around her, she can see wreckage and debris  _ strewn _ about. The corpse of a house, perhaps, or a small store. Obliterated.

Urgency. So much to do. Her other selves  _ tease  _ her with their  _ clanging _ and  _ clamoring _ in her mind. She  _ must  _ find them.

Her body, too, demands attention. Each  _ flap _ of ragged silk against her hip, each  _ twinge  _ of sensation as the air  _ caresses  _ her bare breasts, they remind her of her vulnerability. 

But the  _ crackle  _ of flames, the ruins of the structure around her, they  _ forebode  _ of another presence, one besides her other selves.  _ Danger _ .  _ Harm _ .

**Author's Note:**

> Make suggestions on this story at its QuestionableQuesting thread.


End file.
